


Helpless

by yeaka



Series: Sucked In [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto needs glaive training, but Ignis happened.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Series: Sucked In [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141448
Comments: 18
Kudos: 96





	Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Prompto’s going to be the best Crownsguard _ever._

Well. He’s not going to be Ignis good. Or Gladiolus good. He doesn’t know if Marshal Cor counts, and if so, of course he’s not going to be that good either. Or as good as the alpha with the three different nose piercings that winks at him every time he visits the Citadel. But he’ll probably be better than the omega with pigtails that’s always running into the glass door of the gardens. That’s something.

With Gladiolus’ help, he might even be better than that one chick with the long purple braids who always looks like she’s just stepped right out of the ocean. Assuming he makes it in at all.

He’s perfectly aware that he has zero chance of passing the upcoming exam without Gladiolus’ extensive training, and he’s cramming it in every chance he gets. He’s absurdly grateful for it. Noctis and Ignis give him plenty of pointers, but Gladiolus has a long history of training ‘unequipped brats’, as he puts it, and Prompto’s already learned _so much_ in the few sessions they’ve managed to cram into their busy schedules. He’s got all day today, a couple hours next Sunday, and then he’ll take the exam with the dozen-or-so other hopefuls and hopefully pass. 

He always feels awkward going to Gladiolus’ house to fetch his trainer. Iris tends to give him sympathetic looks, like she knows as well as he does that he’ll never make it. Mr. Amicitia tends to stare down at him like he’s a speck of commoner dirt on the bottom of Gladiolus’ noble shoe. Fortunately, Gladiolus is trying to move out, and has spent the last few days on Ignis’ couch in the transition period, because he’s looking at places between Ignis’ and Noctis’ buildings. Or at least, that’s what his text said. So Prompto goes to Ignis’ house instead, which is fine, because Prompto will always take any excuse to see Ignis and his beautiful smile and his delicious baked goods and his soothing omega scent. Prompto practically wet himself the day Ignis gave him a key. He tries to never abuse that privilege and actually use it, even though he keeps it in his wallet next to Gladiolus’ and Noctis’—two other treasures he values more than his own life. He knocks on Ignis’ door like anybody else would. Except he’s fairly certain Ignis wouldn’t give a key to just anyone. 

No one answers, and Prompto gets an instant spike of panic that maybe he got the wrong day, or maybe Gladiolus needs to cancel; maybe such a big, strong, virile alpha has better things to do than teach an omega pipsqueak how to shoot. He has to force himself to knock again. On the third knock, the door wrenches open.

He expects maybe Ignis in an apron, too busy in the kitchen to answer the door, but instead he gets Gladiolus—huge, hulking Gladiolus, looking particularly beefy and mouth-watering just because his pheromones are blazing. They almost knock Prompto over in their intensity. He’s shirtless, every bulging muscle visible, glistening in the dim hall light with a not-so-thin sheen of sweat and maybe spit and another choice liquid. His fly’s down, his giant cock hanging half-hard out of his jeans. 

Prompto’s eyes shoot downward. He _stares_. He knows what Gladiolus’ dick looks like. He’s got plenty of pictures of it in his phone. He knows just how long and thick it is, how red it gets when it’s aroused, how faint blue veins twist down the side and get lost under the crinkled rim around his foreskin—

“Shit, sorry,” Gladiolus mutters, stepping back enough to let Prompto in, which is probably smart—they shouldn’t be doing this in the hall. Prompto wanders into Ignis’ living room like a zombie. 

It’s like walking into a fog of pure pheromones. It’s not just Gladiolus anymore, but _Ignis_ : pure, sweet, beautiful Ignis with his wonderfully gentle omega scent that’s so familiar and warm—it feels _right_ , feels _good_ , like home. Prompto vaguely hears the door shut behind him. He’s busy looking over at the couch, where Ignis is sprawled out amidst a tangle of sheets and blankets and stolen clothes. Prompto’s own chocobo hoodie is draped over the armrest. Noctis’ checker-print pants are woven into the left wall. Gladiolus’ underwear is square in the center of the cushions. 

Ignis’ glasses are on the coffee table, next to his phone and a near-empty glass of water. His clothes are nowhere to be found. He’s not wearing a single thing save the little silver skull necklace Noctis got him for his sixteenth birthday—something he almost never takes off. 

It’s weird. Not right. Ignis likes to make his nest in the bedroom, right on the bed, neat and orderly—not the sloppy semi-circle he’s got going on the couch. Like reading his empty mind, Gladiolus explains, “I told him to do it here so I could still watch TV.”

If Ignis was in his right mind, he’s probably snort at the comment. He probably would’ve refused in the first place. But he clearly didn’t, and he’s clearly lost, even though there are so many stains and the smell is just aged enough that Prompto thinks his heat’s at its tail end. It looks like it’s smack in the middle. Maybe that’s just because Gladiolus is there, extending it—Prompto knows from experience that it’s hard to go back to regular life when you’ve got Gladiolus’ mammoth cock in reach. Maybe living with an alpha for even a week has totally ruined Ignis’ cycle, even though he practically lives with Noctis most days. 

Noctis. Prompto’s best friend. Another totally hot alpha. That Prompto wants to bone so bad. He has to physically shake his head to clear it. He can feel himself spiraling into full on desperate omega mode. His knees are already weak. He can see every vivid tooth and nail mark on Ignis’ pale body and can imagine all the ways that Gladiolus has manhandled him into place. Prompto can see where things are knocked off the counter in the kitchenette and where the bookstand’s been moved next to the television. Ignis has clearly been bent over every surface in the room. He’s probably been fucked against a couple of walls. He’s probably been shoved down onto his knees and made to open wide and take Gladiolus’ impossibly long cock all the way down his throat—

Prompto lets out a traitorous whining noise, and that wakes him back up. He shoots his hand over his mouth. Ignis is staring dazedly at him, eyes dilated and half-lidded, practically unseeing. But he licks his lips and drawls, “I... I’m sorry, Prompto... you had... training, yes...?”

Of course he would know. He knows everything. Keeps track of all their schedules. He’s an angel that Prompto doesn’t deserve. Prompto fumbles, “Uh, yeah, but... but it’s okay...” It’s not okay. He really needs that lesson. But he can’t rob Ignis of his alpha. That would just be _wrong_. Prompto feels guilty even thinking about it. 

Ignis closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, like he’s _trying_ to be sane. Prompto’s trying too. “No, you... you should... the exam—”

Gladiolus is moving in Prompto’s peripherals. He’s marching back around to the couch, hiking up over the outer wall of the nest and plopping down—then he’s got an arm around Ignis’ trim waist, and Ignis cuts off in a languid groan. He climbs right over into Gladiolus’ lap like he never wanted to leave. Prompto watches, horrified and mesmerized, as Ignis rises up on spread knees and reaches down to shove two fingers into his own puckered asshole. It’s clearly already fucked loose, leaking profusely, his own clear liquid and Gladiolus’ white seed—it dribbles down his thighs as he positions himself over Gladiolus’ cock. Gladiolus settles back with a smirk, letting Ignis impale himself bit by bit over the veiled head. 

It disappears between Ignis’ parted cheeks. His back arches, graceful and erotic, head tossing back as he moans. He looks _so handsome._ Prompto just wants to run over and eat him out and cuddle. 

He wants to eat Gladiolus’ cum out of Ignis’ drenched hole, then spread himself open and beg Gladiolus to fill him up too. He wants Noctis in his mouth. He wants to get into the Crownsguard and have an orgy in the changing room, letting every last glaive take him one by one. 

He’s not allowed in that changing room yet. He’s not qualified to protect his beloved prince. That’s super important to him.

Even ruined by Gladiolus’ careless legs and poorly positioned from the start, Ignis’ nest looks bizarrely comfortable. Prompto’s always loved being in Ignis’ nests. He’s always felt privileged to be invited. He wants to be in it now. Wants to kiss Ignis’ neck and stroke the small of his back and wait for Gladiolus to find a new hole to fuck. 

He’s never been so torn.

He’s not saying anything, but Ignis moans for him, “ _Prompto_ —”

“I know, Specs,” Gladiolus rumbles, kissing Ignis’ cheek, then mouth, filling him up with tongue and prying it open, letting Prompto watch it all. Ignis kisses back in little, desperate nips, groaning happily every time Gladiolus obliges. But then Gladiolus turns his head aside and breathlessly promises, “Gimme a min, Prom. I just wanna rail Iggy one more time.”

Prompto wordlessly nods. Right. He understands. If he was an alpha, he’d want to rail Ignis too. But that might throw off the group dynamic. It’s nice having two and two. They all work so well together. He’s gravitated closer to them without even realizing it—one minute he’s by the door, and the next he’s at the side of the coffee table, really getting a close look at Ignis’ gorgeous face without his usual glasses. 

Prompto opens his mouth to say that it’s fine, he’ll wait, he understands—he _wants_ Ignis to be satisfied and happy—but then he accidentally whines instead, “Can you rail me too?”

Gladiolus breaks off another kiss to smirk and nod. But Ignis clicks his tongue and tries to pull away. Gladiolus loosens his grip enough to let Ignis twist around—still fully seated on Gladiolus’ cock but not bouncing on it anymore—and he reaches down to the coffee table. He collects his phone in sweaty, trembling fingers, and passes it to Prompto. 

As soon as Prompto’s taken it, Ignis has lurched back around to kiss Gladiolus’ jaw. He’s running both hands through Gladiolus’ mattered hair as he gasps, “Check... his schedule...”

Prompto understands. He’s not surprised Ignis has Gladiolus’ schedule in his phone. Swiping past the lock screen—which has the same code they all do—he finds a folder right on the home screen with all their schedules in it. It takes him a few attempts to tap on Gladiolus’—his hands are shaking too. 

Gladiolus’ entire month is full. He probably shouldn’t even be fucking Ignis in the moment—apparently Iris has a school play after Prompto’s training. There’s nowhere else before the exam that Gladiolus can pencil Prompto in. 

He wonders if Ignis’ phone has as many pictures of Gladiolus’ naked body as Prompto does. Probably not. He’s not a photographer. He probably doesn’t spend half his time daydreaming about filming Noctis. 

A text from Noctis pops up right that second, like summoned by Prompto’s thirsty thoughts. _Wanna play some King’s Knight?_

Prompto blinks. It takes him a second to realize that Noctis is asking Ignis. 

Gladiolus grunts, “Fuck, gonna come—” A violent shudder wracks through Prompto’s body. He wants to _drown_ in Gladiolus’ cum. “Hey, Prom—want me to do it on Iggy’s face so you can lick it up?”

Prompto’s so hard it hurts. He sends the quickest, worst text he’s ever typed in his life— _Noc is prom – @ igs gonfuk shuld b training . HELP_

And then he drops the phone and gets his pants off like a professional glaive at warp speed.


End file.
